The Forsaken

words on the leaf: “HELP!” and “MISTAKE!” I hold the leaf up to the camera, point at myself, and then at the words. If anyone’s watching, I’m sending a clear message. I toss that leaf down, find another larger one, and write my full name on it, trying not to tear the leaf. The letters are small and jagged, but the docent, or whoever controls the camera, can probably zoom in if he wants.
    “What’s your last name?” I ask David, trying to be generous and give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s still keeping lookout. “I’ll write something for you. Maybe they’ll come rescue both of us.”
    He turns toward me. “You really think someone will come, don’t you?”
    “Maybe.” The truth is, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anyone being rescued from Island Alpha, or any mistake of this magnitude being made. But I’m not going to let that stop me. “I guess it feels better to try than to just stand around doing nothing.”
    David sighs. “Aberley,” he says. “That’s my last name.” He spells it for me.
    I find another leaf and write it down for him. Then I hold it up to the camera and point in his direction. If he’s sane like me, then this might help him get rescued. At the same time, if he’s an Unanchored Soul, then maybe putting his name on the leaf will hasten my own rescue—because the authorities will be worried about my safety.
    I know that if I’m still on this island when night falls, it’s going to be a struggle to survive. I’m a city girl, used to my familiar routines at school and the orphanage. And now I’m on an island with thousands of violent, potentially psychotic teens, with David as my only companion.
    I lower the leaf, feeling a little stupid that I even tried. We don’t need to be standing here in the open, waiting for some frightening apparition to explode from the trees and snatch us. So I stick the leaves on branches, check to make sure they’re in camera range, and then David and I head back toward the forest.
    I try to imagine what my dad would tell me to do. Until the day he got taken, he was always good in tough spots. He’d probably tell me to find a safe hiding place, keep an eye on David, and try to think my way out of the situation.
    I’m about to re-enter the trees, when I hear the faint rustle of nearby branches. The sound is so soft that anywhere else I probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
    I stop moving. The sound comes again.
    “David?” I whisper. He’s already heard it too.
    I look back at the camera. No doubt it catches the terrified expression on my face. But the camera can’t help me. The rustling noise gets louder, like someone’s headed straight in our direction.
    “Don’t move,” David cautions softly. “Don’t make any noise.”
    My first instinct is to run, but I know once I get into the depths of the forest, I’m going to get lost pretty quickly. My eyes flick toward the spiral staircase. I’m too far away to make a dash for it. And besides, it doesn’t lead anywhere. Someone could trap me up there if they wanted to.
    David sinks down to the ground, motioning for me to do the same. So instead of running, I crouch down near a fallen tree covered with lichens.
    I press myself flat in the underbrush behind it, trying to make myself invisible. David is a few feet to my left. I take shallow breaths, even though my chest is pounding. The rustling sounds grow louder. I peek through the underbrush above the fallen tree.
    Standing at the edge of the clearing is a four-legged animal, the size of a large pig. But it’s not like any pig I’ve ever seen. While its body is stocky and its legs end in cloven hooves, its head is sleek and vicious with a narrow, pointed snout.
    The animal sniffs the air, revealing rows of tiny sharp teeth. It doesn’t see me or David yet. Its yellow eyes are wild, almost mad-looking.
    It roots in the earth like a boar, digging its teeth into the mud as it grunts.
    Suddenly, it tosses its head back and opens its mouth wide. A loud, screeching explosion of noise bursts forth. Unable to stop myself, I let out a startled gasp.
    David shoots me a warning glance. The screeching stops instantly. Did the animal hear me? I’m too scared to look up and find out.
    Then I hear another sound, faint but distinct. A harsh, guttural shriek. I realize that somewhere out there is a second one of these animals. David signals at me to start moving backward.
    I risk a terrified peek again, thinking that the